


the soundtrack of our love is an untitled album

by MisusedEllipsis



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Angst, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Complicated Relationships, Falling In Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Heartbreaker Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Romance, Slow Burn, Song Lyrics, Strangers to More than Friends but Less than Lovers, Will they? Won't they?, mysterious pianist Viktor, struggling singer songwriter Yuuri, the Once AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-02-08 06:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12858750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisusedEllipsis/pseuds/MisusedEllipsis
Summary: Their music needed one thing -- each otherIn which struggling street musician Yuuri Katsuki finds his world turned upside down after meeting Viktor, a mysterious stranger from St Petersburg who inspires him to pursue his career once again. Their love for music brings them closer together, even as it threatens to tear them apart.





	1. Leave

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is based on the 2007 film and 2012 musical, “Once”. It’s an angsty, heartfelt, musical masterpiece. If you’ve never seen it, firstly, what are you doing with your life? But also, don’t stress it, as I’ve done my best to make this a stand alone story, so you won’t have to rely on previous knowledge of the original film/musical. However, there will be lyrics throughout the fic, so I will include links to the specific songs in the author’s notes to make it easier for you to get a feel for the story. Enjoy!
> 
> Chapter song: [Leave](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JkBOjX7BxM)

It was cold. Bitterly cold. 

The sun had set hours ago, and the stars were out -- if anyone could actually see them in the glow of the city lights. The shops and bars were all closed for the night, their open signs dimmed and their gates locked tight. The littered streets were empty. Completely and totally empty. 

Except for one lone street musician. 

He didn’t want to go home that night -- not like this. But he didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go. So he stayed out, playing on that sad street corner next to a broken payphone and the dumpster from the pub next door, fighting the loneliness and the cold and the wind. 

It’s not like he actually wanted to play the streets like some washed up twenty-something-year old, dime-a-dozen struggling artist. 

But the irony was that he actually  _ was _ a washed up twenty-something-year-old dime-a-dozen struggling artist -- with nothing but his worn-out guitar and a dozen notebooks worth of song lyrics to show for his efforts. 

His career was dead -- not that it actually started. And Yuuri Katsuki had accepted that fact a long time ago. 

But what else was he supposed to do? Go home to open arms like some sort of prodigal son? 

Pathetic. That’s what he was.

The chords on his old guitar rang out into the night as he strummed away, the ghost of an abandoned, half-written song hanging on his lips. He could remember every word, every line. And it was slowly killing him.

_ Can’t wait forever… _

_ It’s all that you said… _

_ Before you stood up… _

He remembered it like it was yesterday -- sitting in that cafe, face-to-face with his more-than-supportive agent. She was so helpful, so willing to push him ahead in the local market. 

But it was no use. 

No matter how hard he’d tried, his ambition was dead. His inspiration, his drive, his passion…

_ And you won't disappoint me… _

_ I can do that myself… _

He’d pushed so many people away; his friends, his family. For almost six months now, he’d turned in on himself, content to give up on his dreams. But recently, things had changed. And it almost felt like things might get better.

His family, especially his sister, were the cause of his recent awakening. 

As Mari had told him that night some weeks ago, when they sat together on the apartment balcony, sharing a cigarette -- his family wasn’t going to stand by and watch him fade away, so he either had to find his own place or start to help pay the rent. 

Mari didn’t care what he did to make money, as long as he was trying to get out there and be a part of the world again. 

And so here he was. Singing aloud on the streets with an open guitar case at his feet.

_ Leave, leave, _

_ I don't understand, you've already gone... _

He’d been on that exact street corner for hours, every day, for the past week. It was a ritual now, singing to the passing crowds, hoping to make a few extra bucks and to make up for being a failure of a son. 

He hated it, though -- those hours in the day. But night was different. Night was usually better.

At night, the street lamp flickered above him, so close to giving out completely, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want the extra spotlight anyway. 

At night, his hands ached, his fingerless gloves and hand-knitted scarf doing little to keep the November evening chill at bay. This was a bit of a hinderance, but he pushed through the pain.

But the best thing was, at night, no one would hear him. When there was no one to impress, there was no one to let down, either. It was better that way. And so, he played. 

But everything still felt wrong.

Some nights were better than others, but tonight was not one of them.

_ Leave, leave, _

_ And please yourself at the same time... _

God, how he hated those lyrics now. He’d been so angry. So lost. And he still was. But that anger had changed to a sort of sadness he couldn’t really explain with words.

Those crushed hopes, that lingering unhappiness… It was a constant state of being for him now. 

_ Let go of my hand… _

_ You said what you came to… _

_ Now leave… _

His voice ached as he fought back the urge to cry. 

God, he was a mess. He didn’t want anyone to leave, like the song suggested.

He wasn’t confident or charming or cool. He didn’t have anything worth offering to people. He was uneasy, anxious, and flighty -- preferring to run away from his problems rather than face them like a well-adjusted, responsible, normal person. 

_ Leave… _

_ Leave… _

If anything,  _ he _ was the one who kept leaving. He’d left his agent, his friends...And if he ever got low enough, he probably would leave his family too. 

But he didn’t exactly have anything to run towards. And he knew he’d never find whatever it was he needed to get out of this slump. Because he didn’t even know what he _ wanted  _ anymore.

His voice wailed into the darkness as he sang through the unfinished melody, his fingers strumming a harsh mash of chords with little-to-no direction or purpose. But he didn’t really care. He was getting it out there. Out in the open. And he almost felt better about things.

Almost.

His song ended quietly, the notes faded into the darkness around him, and a dark silence fell once again on that cold street corner. 

But it wasn’t silent for long.

There was a faint, muffled clapping coming from his right, and Yuuri blinked in surprise before turning, slowly. There, shrouded in darkness, stood a single man in a long tan coat, his leather gloves dampening the enthusiasm of his claps.

Yuuri was embarrassed, to say the least. He never thought anyone would actually stop to listen to his night songs, and it was a little unnerving. He nodded in thanks anyway, only to stare in wide-eyed shock as the man quickly dug around in his coat pockets before tossing a few coins in the guitar case at his feet.

It couldn’t have been more than ten cents. 

Yuuri laughed.

“T-thanks. I may go home early, now,” he chuckled nervously, glancing up to see the stranger tilt his head in amused confusion.

“I’m sorry?” 

The short phrase was enough to give away the man’s accent, and Yuuri feared his anxiety-driven attempt at sarcasm was lost in translation.

“It’s nothing…” Yuuri replied with a small smile. “But thanks. For listening.”

The man smiled in return, and Yuuri suddenly felt his breath catch in his throat.

It was the first moment he’d actually stopped to look at the guy. His bright, easy smile was warm, and genuine, and Yuuri couldn’t remember the last time he actually felt moved by something as simple as a smile. 

The guy was obviously well-to-do, though. That coat was probably worth more than Yuuri’s entire life savings. And the guy was tall, too. Incredibly tall, with the figure of a swimwear model, and hair that Yuuri could only describe as spun-silver. And those eyes, those crystal blue eyes…It was like jumping in a frozen lake. Burning and chilling and dazzling all at once.

“Did you write that song?” the stranger asked suddenly, a sort of breathlessness in his voice.

Yuuri blinked, the question wrenching him out of his reverie.

With a quick nod of his head, Yuuri shrugged and looked at the ground, “Uh… Yeah…”

“It is incredible, you know,” the guy continued warmly. “Much better than the other songs you sing. The famous ones.”

“Oh…uh, y-you’ve heard me before?” he asked, lifting his hand to awkwardly twist a strand of his dark bangs between his fingers.

“Yeah. I hear you sometimes during the day when everything is crowded,” the man explained offhandedly, but Yuuri could hear a nervousness in his tone too,“Your voice is really good, so I was sad when you only sang popular songs,” his voice lowered and his eyes met Yuuri’s, “But now I see you have something really special.”

Yuuri felt oddly elated. This random guy really thought his music was good? Was that even possible? He was totally dreaming, right?

“So, tell me,” the stranger went on, with another smile so blinding that Yuuri had to look away in embarrassment, “Who do you sing for?” 

It was Yuuri’s turn to be confused.

“Sorry...What?” he muttered as he lifted his head to meet the man’s curious gaze.

“Who do you sing for?” The man repeated gently, stepping forward, “A lover maybe?”

At that, Yuuri had to blush, “No…” he looked away again. “It’s not like that…”

“I see,” the stranger paused a moment and Yuuri almost hoped he would drop the subject, but he just continued quietly, like he was walking on thin ice. “Did they leave you? Or... die, or something?”

“What?” Yuuri yelped, “No! It’s really nothing like that!”

The stranger tilted his head, the curious glint in his eye silently urging Yuuri to go on.

“It’s…” Yuuri paused, not quite sure why he felt compelled to explain his love life to a complete stranger, “I haven’t...I mean, I don’t really have...someone.”

“Oh...” The man seemed shocked, his eyes blinking as he, too, looked away.

Yuuri only nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, “No girlfriend, or boyfriend…Or anyone, really…” He grew quiet, the reality of his lonely existence hitting him like a ton of bricks.

The guy was silent for a moment, and Yuuri could sense his mind at work, like he was trying to find the right words.

“It surprises me,” the stranger mused finally, his piercing gaze turning soft as he took another cautious step forward, “You sing so beautifully; it would be difficult to  _ not _ fall in love with you.”

As if by providence, a delivery truck passed by before Yuuri could think of a response. The truck’s blinding headlights, the rumbling of the tires on the cobblestone, and the sudden gust of wind -- it was all a welcome distraction. Like a knife cutting through the tension. And Yuuri was thankful. He wasn’t exactly used to such abrupt compliments, and gaping like a fool was all Yuuri could manage to do in that moment. 

But the stranger’s patient eyes held Yuuri frozen while the truck sped by, sending a scattering of dried leaves flying in the air around them.

The street grew quiet again. 

The stranger still stared, expectant, waiting.

“I don’t…” Yuuri began quietly, hoping to dig his way out of the awkward silence, “I don't really sing for love either-- ” 

“So you sing for money,” the guy mused with a stern huff and an elegant toss of his perfect hair.

“No, I-- I mean...” Yuuri’s mutterings continued as his fingers picked lightly at the strings of his guitar, “I don’t really...I mean, it’s kind of just a side gig...thing...”

He glanced up, seeing from the stranger’s distant smile that his answer was far from satisfactory.

Yuuri sighed, feeling a little dazed as he struggled to answer for his art. “T-this isn’t my real job or anything. It’s not like, I mean,” he gestured to the nearly empty guitar case, “I don’t exactly make money like this--”

“You could, you know.” the stranger stated happily, his honesty blunt yet encouraging, “Why don’t you try to make money? You can make records and sell them. Get famous. Or do you have another job? Other responsibilities?”

“Well…” Wincing, Yuuri looked once more to the ground, hating the timely reminder of his failed music career and how lame he was about to become in this stranger’s eyes. “My family runs a repair shop. For appliances. You know...microwaves, vacuums, washing machines-”

“What, really?” the sharp, almost electric question shot through the air as Yuuri glanced to see the man’s eyes widen in sheer, utter delight, “Vacuums? You really fix vacuums?”

“Yes?” Yuuri replied quietly, his brain suddenly making the connection. “Do...Do you have a broken vacuum or something?”

The man brought a hand to his eyes and nodded as a deep laugh rose from his lips. 

“You’re kidding...Right?” Yuuri asked, uneasy with the way his heart warmed at the sound of the stranger’s laughter. “You are kidding?”

The man shook his head as he beamed, “No, it's true! It broke only yesterday! Crazy, right?”

Yuuri was too jaded to blame God, or fate, or anything like that. But in that moment, what else was he supposed to think?

“This is impossible…” he groaned, letting his head fall back as he silently debated whether to curse or thank the universe.

“How about this: I will bring my vacuum tomorrow around noon, and you can fix it, yes?” The stranger simply smiled and held out his hand for Yuuri to shake.

Yuuri glanced to him, and then to his outstretched hand. It was friendly,expectant, kind and…

Well, it  _ was _ his parent’s business, after all. How could he possibly turn away a new customer? 

So, he gingerly accepted the stranger’s hand in his own. 

“Alright!” The man stated happily as their hands clasped together tightly, “I look forward to doing business with you!”

A business deal. That’s all it was. 

Right?

“Right…” Yuuri let out softly, but his pulsing heart told him otherwise.

The man nodded before withdrawing his hand slowly. Yuuri suddenly felt very, very cold. 

It was a sensation he could not help but ponder on, even as the man turned and headed down the street. Yuuri watched after him, noting the slight skip in the stranger’s step, when he suddenly saw the man turn and wave his arm above his head.

“Viktor!” the man shouted, “My name! It’s Viktor! What’s yours?”

Yuuri took a deep breath, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted back.

“Yuuri!”

He heard the man laughing again, bright and cheerful and warm. 

“Okay, Yuuri!” the man yelled in return, “Till tomorrow!” 

“Till...till tomorrow,” Yuuri whispered, more to himself than anything.

He held his hand to his chest. His heart...He could feel it beating even through the fabric of his coat. 

What was this? Who was this guy?

No, he wasn’t just some guy.

Yuuri smiled.

He was  _ Viktor. _

* * *

 

And Viktor was late.

Yuuri wasn’t exactly mad. He was just a little disappointed, is all. 

It wasn’t every day that he stood on a street corner singing to a crowd, waiting for a new acquaintance to come along for a vacuum repair.

Well, the singing on street corners was normal, but Yuuri was pretty downhearted that Viktor was breaking their arrangement. It was well after seven before Yuuri considered calling it quits and heading home. 

But he waited. 

He waited, singing top 40 love songs and pop covers like some A-list wannabe. 

He waited, even when the shops closed around him and the foot traffic died down.

He waited, feeling the temperature slowly falling as he wrapped his fluffy blue scarf around his neck. 

He waited until he felt the weight of disappointment collapse in his chest, and he slowly began to pack away his things for the night.

As he adjusted his scarf and slowly buttoned up his coat, he looked up to the night sky, counting the stars as they twinkled for a moment, and then died again behind the glowing skyscraper lights. 

He knelt down, and carefully set his guitar away in its case, snapping the clasps shut and slinging it over his shoulder as he stood and let out a long, slow sigh, his breath turning visible in the cold. 

He paused a moment, his feet rooted to the concrete, unable to move. There was no use waiting around any longer. He knew that. But he couldn’t just leave like this. 

The church down the street rang out the hour. It was almost nine now. The street wasn’t entirely empty, the bars were still open, and there were a fair bit of traffic in the road. Somewhere a karaoke bar was playing gaudy Christmas music, and a few shops had already begun hanging lights and garland in the windows. But Yuuri’s heart was numb to all the city’s holiday hubbub. 

What the hell was he doing there, anyway? Waiting for some stranger to walk into his life and change everything? Like that was going to happen.

He turned slowly, his feet dragged along as he stood to wait at the crosswalk.

“Yuuri!” 

Yuuri hated it, the way his heart leapt at the sound of that voice calling to him. Still, he couldn’t help himself as he turned around to see Viktor -- tall, handsome, brilliant Viktor -- racing in his direction from across the street, dragging along a bright red Hoover canister vacuum. 

It was a sight, that much was for sure. And Yuuri had to force back a laugh.

“Vi-Viktor?” he stuttered under his breath as he watched his new acquaintance slowly come to a halt and buckle over from exhaustion, panting like he’d run a marathon.

And he probably had, judging by the sweat that dripped from his head as he bent over, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“I’m so-- I’m sorry I’m so late,” he tried to say between breaths. “I had...I had to arrange some things. I am very sorry, Yuuri…”

Yuuri shook his head, although the sting of disappointment still pained him.“Oh, really, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Viktor sighed as he stood, his eyes revealing just how sorry he was. “It’s not nothing to me. Please, I must make it up to you.”

“You don’t-”

“Oh! I know!” Viktor suddenly perked up, reaching out to take Yuuri’s hand. “I can play for you! Come on!”

In a flash, he was suddenly dragging both Yuuri and the vacuum behind him as he headed off down the street.

‘Wait, Viktor…” Yuuri argued as he struggled to catch up, “Where are we going? And, hang on, what about your vacuum? We need to go to the shop--”

“Don’t worry about it. We can fix it later!” Viktor laughed, gently pulling him along to walk beside him, “But there’s a music shop I know. The owner lets me play after hours. If we hurry he should still be there,” Viktor explained with a smile as they turned the corner and continued on.

Yuuri was still incredibly confused. His world was turning upside down and his heart was racing and he didn’t want it to stop. But he kept quiet as Viktor let go of his hand and they walked on together. 

It was nice, just walking through the city, and Yuuri couldn’t help but notice how Viktor slowed his pace until their strides were in tandem, and how Viktor would glance over at him through his silver bangs, as if he didn’t think Yuuri would see.

It was nice.

It was quiet. 

It was… too quiet.

“So...Viktor,” Yuuri began, trying to think of some subject to keep the silences from suffocating them both, “You play an instrument, I’m guessing?”

Viktor hummed in thought, “Yes. The piano.”

“I see…” Yuuri mused.

“I learned when I was very young,” Viktor continued and Yuuri found himself hanging on every word, “My father played with the orchestra back home in St. Petersburg. The violin. But his hands hurt because he played for so many years…” he paused to think of the correct English term, his eyes lighting as he remembered. “Arthritis, I think.”

Yuuri nodded to himself. So Victor was Russian. That made sense. His accent had been the biggest clue, though Yuuri had trouble placing it during their first encounter. 

He snuck a glance over when he realized how quiet Viktor had become, and he watched as Viktor’s eyes looked up to the dark sky which opened above them as they left the sophisticated hustle and bustle and glitter of downtown and entered into a quieter, historic walking street. 

Even without the bright lights, Yuuri could still see Viktor’s bottom lip quiver as he let out a long, shaky sigh. 

There was something there, inside that deep sigh...Something dark and sad and lost. 

But Yuuri had to be imaging things, right? This guy couldn’t possibly be as hopeless as he seemed in that moment. He was cool and charming and handsome and--

“He died when I was sixteen,” Viktor smiled fondly as he looked ahead, his eyes glazed over in deep thought. “Cancer. But he taught me the piano before he passed.” He sighed again and held out his free hand, extending his fingers and wiggling them lightly. “He said it was better for the hands. Silly, huh?”

Yuuri’s stomach tightened. God, he felt like an idiot. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he whispered as he tried to look at anything besides Viktor’s small, sad smile.

“Thank you,” Viktor replied, his attitude turning cheerful again. “But what about you? When did you start to play the guitar? Who taught you?”

“Oh, um, well…” he cleared his throat as best he could and then continued.“I began when I was seven. A family friend gave me a little child’s guitar for my birthday and she taught me how to play…”

It was Yuuri’s turn to reminisce. 

Minako, his mother’s dearest friend and his closest mentor. She had inspired him so much in those early days. She taught him everything he knew and he wished he could have made something of himself, to prove that she had changed him for good.

Yuuri’s memories were put on hold as he caught Viktor leaning closer to him, looking at him with a squinty, suspicious expression.

“This family friend…” he asked slowly, his eyes blinking. “Was she your first love, perhaps?”

Yuuri’s jaw dropped.

“Wh-what!? Are you crazy?” he shrieked in horror. “She’s just a friend! I swear! A-and she’s  old enough to be my mother! She’s like an aunt or a godmother or--”

Viktor laughed and stepped away, shrugging defensively.

“I was just curious! Forgive me.”

Yuuri huffed and nodded. “Fine. But seriously, she’s just a really great person. She’s in New York now, doing work with a big record label…” he shrugged, trying not to make a big deal out of it. “And I haven’t heard from her in years.”

“I see…” Viktor nodded and they both fell silent.

They made it another few blocks before Viktor stopped suddenly and Yuuri turned to see him standing proudly in front of the darkened shop wedged between a bookstore and a Baby Gap.

“Well,” said Viktor, his eyes beaming. “We’re here.”

Yuuri looked around, and quickly realized that this was, indeed, a music shop. The window display was overboard with a complete drum kit, a stand-up base, a few guitars, cases of old records, and a dozen loose stacks of sheet music. It was charming, old school, and Yuuri loved it instantly.

He read the banner over the double-doors and stammered with the pronunciation.

“Yuh-Yakov’s?” He muttered as he watched Viktor banged on the door and peered through the fogged windows.

He smiled and waved wildly at someone inside, then pointed to the door before giving a thumbs-up.

“He’s going to let us in,” he explained to Yuuri and just as he did, the doors opened on one side.

Inside was a stout, older gentleman with balding hair, sagging eyes, and the expression of one in desperate need of a straight whiskey. 

“Vitya…” The man grumbled angrily before muttering off something in Russian. 

Viktor quickly cut him off, gesturing to Yuuri and begging like a child. Or at least that’s what Yuuri could make of their short conversation. Whatever was going on, Viktor was doing his best to plead and bargain with the man, and Yuuri felt surprisingly giddy over it. 

Finally, as Viktor made his best pouty face, the man nodded and opened the door further, beckoning them inside with a forced smile.

“Welcome, welcome, please come in,” he insisted through his teeth. “I’m Yakov. This is my shop. It’s closed. But if you’re a friend of Viktor’s, then please, by all means, come at all hours of the night. It’s no problem at all. It’s not like I have a family or friends or a regular sleep schedule--”

Viktor laughed him off and pushed Yuuri ahead of him inside while Yakov went to turn on a few more lights.

Yuuri thanked him profusely, but as a flood of lights warmed the room, his jaw dropped and his thankful mutterings were cut short. 

The sight was incredible. The room was simply filled with every instrument imaginable. Guitars, violins, trombones, pianofortes, accordions, ukuleles, everything. There were some impressive, antique pieces, too. With deep, dark wood and shining brass. It felt like a magic shop. There were tables of records and crates of sheet music and shelves of tapes and CDs and… 

There was just so much  _ music _ .

As he moved forward slowly, carefully moving between tables, shelves, and music stands, Yuuri felt his heart constrict, like he was drinking in water after months in a desert. 

But a sinking feeling in his stomach forced him to stop dead in his tracks.

He was a fake, a fraud. He didn’t deserve to be there. Not really.  

He wanted to turn tail and run far away; away from music, away from everything that reminded him of his failures. He wanted to drown out the wild beating of his heart and to dive deeper into the depths of despair he’d dug for himself over the past months. But he was frozen, his whole body stuck at the crossroads of fight-or-flight, and he couldn’t breathe. 

“So, Yuuri...” Viktor’s voice called to him gently, luring him from his fog of doubt, blue eyes meeting brown from across a room of music and harmony and light. “Shall we begin?”


	2. Falling Slowly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: [Falling Slowly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fj9ZoUr1XA)

“So, Yuuri...” Viktor’s voice called to him, “Shall we begin?”

Yuuri felt the tension in his shoulders release at the sound and he looked up, hearing a rattling as the vacuum rolled along the hardwood. His eyes caught a flash of silver hair just as Viktor disappeared into a back room.

Like a spark was ignited in his heart, Yuuri quickly followed, making his way through the labyrinth behind a wall of keyboards and audio equipment until he came upon a smaller room in the back. He entered to find it filled with at least a dozen pianos, of all shapes, sizes, and makes. Grands, baby grands, uprights, Steinways, Bechsteins, Mason and Hamlins…

“Come on, sit with me,” Viktor waved from the farthest corner where he sat at a particularly stunning white baby grand.

Yuuri crept his way through and eventually found himself standing at Viktor’s side, watching as his hand lightly danced over the keys with a cheerful little warmup. 

But a shout from the other room put a harsh stop to his beautiful arpeggios.

“The baby Steinway’s about to sell. Don’t get too attached, alright?”

Yakov’s warning cast a shadow over Viktor’s face, but he nodded slowly and shut the lid over the keys.

“So this is farewell,” he whispered to the piano like it was a dear friend before turning with a confident smile to a different piano a few seats over -- an old upright. Gently, he let his hand slide along the smooth, warm cherry wood, and then he sat, opening the lid and lightly placing his fingers over the yellowed keys, hesitating, like he was afraid he might break it.

Yuuri held his breath, a string tightening in his core. It was electric, like seeing the trail of a firework shell racing into the sky, and then waiting for it to explode in a vivid array of color and light. 

Then, with a confident nod, Viktor began to play, his fingers falling gently on the keys as he began his song, a melancholic, enchanting melody, its movement slow and alluring.  The song itself was simple enough, a repetitive, relaxing lullaby, but Viktor’s playing… It was unlike anything Yuuri had ever heard before. It was utterly captivating. 

A moment passed before Yuuri realized he was just standing there, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide in shock, staring at Viktor like some kind of moron. He didn’t want to break the soothing atmosphere so he reached for a stool to sit in, but try as he might, it was impossible to move. 

He was, quite literally, stunned.

Viktor’s playing was incredible and Yuuri was surprised, though he didn’t know why he should have expected anything less than perfection. Because it was really, truly, perfect.

But it was gone in an instant, the song fading to a close as quickly as it began, though Yuuri was certain it had been several minutes. As the final notes rung out, Viktor let his fingers lift off the keys and he paused before turning to Yuuri with a shy smile.

“So… What do you think?” he asked, like he wasn’t the greatest piano player of all time.

“Y-you’re really good,” Yuuri uttered under his breath, “Is that...yours? Your song?”

Viktor’s eyes widened before he suddenly burst out laughing.

“Oh goodness, no!” he shook his head and wiped away a tear of laughter from his eye, “ It’s Beethoven, actually…” 

Yuuri only nodded and sat with a thud on the stool behind him.

Of course it had to be Beethoven. And, in hindsight, Yuuri realized that not only was the song composed by Beethoven, it was one of his most famous pieces, too. He felt so stupid. But what else was new?

After a moment, Viktor sighed like a schoolgirl, cupping his face in his hands and blushing. “But it’s sweet you think I could create something like that…” he mused lightly, “I can improvise fairly well, but I haven’t tried writing my own songs before...” he shrugged and looked over with a leering smile, “I guess I’m a little jealous of you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri felt his face heat up as his eyes grew wide - a constant state at this point. 

“Really?! Jealous?” he echoed nervously, shaking his head at the thought.  “No way! I’m really not that great--”

“Don’t be silly, you’re incredible!” Viktor insisted happily, turning to face Yuuri with a sincere, pleasant sort of expression. “Now, what songs do you have for me? May I play one with you?” 

Yuuri’s heart sank and he folded his hands in his lap. “I don’t know...”

Viktor waved the rejection away lightly, “Don’t be silly. It’ll be fun.”

“Viktor--”

“Please!”

Again, with the puppy dog eyes.

He wanted to say no, of course he did. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself after Viktor’s remarkable performance, but what else was he supposed to do? Viktor clearly wasn’t going to accept no for an answer and Yuuri knew himself well enough to know that he would, eventually, give in. Why not give in now and get it over with? Like a bandaid. 

Yuuri sighed, resigned to his fate, and set his guitar case down for a moment, rummaging through a side pocket for whatever scribblings he could find. 

There wasn’t much to work with, but Yuuri finally pulled out a couple pieces of paper, with lyrics and chords written furiously in pencil. He remembered writing it, vaguely. It had been a long time ago. But, the song itself wasn’t absolutely terrible. In fact, he remembered it being one of his favorites. It would have to do for now.

“Here,” he said, positioning the papers on the piano for Viktor to read before he slung his guitar strap over his shoulder and plucked away, tuning. “Now, the first bit goes like this…”

He was a mess, fumbling over the melody as he tried to walk Viktor through the different parts. It was strange, Viktor mimicking the notes flawlessly, his attention trained on Yuuri so completely. After a few experimental minutes, Yuuri felt they’d gotten the basic gist down, and with his nod, they began to play. Together.

It was a steady, rhythmic start. Gentle and constant, the piano mirroring the guitar beautifully. Yuuri only prayed the rest of the song would be just as good as he caught Viktor’s eye and inhaled slowly, ready to begin.

_ I don't know you... _

_ But I want you... _

_ All the more for that… _

The song, the melody, was soothing and warm, but the sound of another instrument, another’s voice -- Viktor ‘s voice -- mixing with his in perfect harmony was almost overwhelming.  Even though he was reading along to lyrics he’d never seen before, Viktor’s voice was perfect, pure, and Yuuri almost felt ashamed. His own voice was strained, hoarse, and croaky, like a untuned violin. 

But somehow --  _ somehow _ , it worked.

_ And games that never amount... _

_ To more than they're meant... _

_ Will play themselves out… _

Viktor was smiling a little as he sang, his eyes focused on the pages in front of him as he fumbled for a moment on the chord progression. But he quickly corrected himself, with a spark of playfulness on his face as he glanced to Yuuri and they began into the chorus.

_ Take this sinking boat…   _

_ And point it home…  _

_ We've still got time… _

God, he was beautiful.

That thought had crossed Yuuri’s mind at least a dozen times in the short few hours they’d spent together. But now, seeing Viktor doing what he loved, it was even more obvious that this was where he belonged, playing the piano. Viktor was a fallen star, with passion and drive and joy and everything Yuuri didn’t have. 

_ Raise your hopeful voice... _

_ You have a choice... _

_ You'll make it now... _

He tried to turn away, focus on anything other than the butterflies building in his gut. But there was a beating in his heart, a rhythm he couldn’t ignore. It was steady and loud, and for a split second he feared Viktor might even be able to hear it. 

But no.

That was impossible.

He was just anxious.

Yeah. Anxious and nervous and scared.

That’s all it was. So he just needed to distract himself. Something, anything, to take his mind away from the present moment.

_ Falling slowly… _

_ Eyes that know me... _

_ And I can't go back... _

Oh, how he remembered writing these lyrics.

This was the song he’d written when his closest friends, after years of beating around the bush, finally realized they were in love and decided to get married.

He’d never really been in love himself, but seeing them finally come together and make a future for themselves… It was truly inspiring. 

_ Moods that take me… _

_ And erase me... _

_ And I'm painted black... _

But if he was honest with himself, he was also jealous. They had something special, something real, something he never could seem to find. 

And even though he knew, deep down, that he still had a lot of life left in him, it was hard to watch them living happily ever after when he was still so incredibly alone.

_ You have suffered enough... _

_ And warred with yourself... _

_ It's time that you won... _

He heard Viktor’s voice fade in this moment and he looked to see a line of tears creeping to the edge of those blue eyes, like they were about to pour out onto the keys; a waterfall of emotion.

Needless to say, Yuuri was shocked. Was this song really that moving? What did Viktor hear that he couldn’t?

Viktor didn’t actually cry, though, because as soon as he glanced to meet Yuuri’s eyes, he shook his head, let out a soft chuckle, and began to sing again. Like nothing had happened.

But Yuuri wasn’t convinced. There was something going on. Not just the death of his father. But something a lot fresher in his mind.Yuuri could just sense it. And if he could help Viktor in any way, he wanted to do whatever he could.

But what could he do? They were strangers. Almost perfect strangers.

_ Raise your hopeful voice… _

_ You have a choice... _

_ You'll make it now... _

It was at that moment, Yuuri saw Viktor smile again. It was bright and sad and cheerful and dreary all at once. Maybe...maybe this  _ was  _ helping.

If singing with him, and hearing his songs was something Viktor needed to cope, then maybe Yuuri wasn’t so useless after all.

_ Sing your melody... _

_ I'll sing along... _

It was helping Yuuri too, in a way. He’d never heard his music sound like this, like it was something worthwhile and lasting, something he wanted to show to the world.

And suddenly, he felt like it wouldn’t be so bad if Viktor were there by his side.

Their playing continued and Yuuri felt Viktor’s eyes on him. 

What was he thinking? Was he thinking the same thing?

No...That was impossible. Still, Yuuri wished he could go on, just a little longer. Just a little bit longer.

Yuuri continued to play while he sung aloud a wordless melody, dragging the song on just a few measures more. But the rhythmic pattern of the opening lines began again, slowly, gently.

And, with a final beat and a slow exhale, the song ended.

The air was thick with...something. An emotion, deep and raw and Yuuri couldn’t breathe. They both sat in silence, each staring ahead, not looking at each other, neither quite knowing what to say.

What was there to say? Yuuri sure as hell didn’t know.

But he gave it a shot.

“That was, uh…” he let out breathlessly, but words failed him.

“Yeah…” Viktor answered, another small smile spreading on his face. “It is good.”

Yuuri blinked, the fog of the moment fading a little as he turned in his seat.

“R-really?” 

“Yeah…” Viktor nodded and looked to him, his eyes still watery with the tears that never came, “It’s really good, Yuuri.”

“It’s a goddamn masterpiece is what it is,” a gruff voice broke from somewhere behind them.

Both Yuuri and Viktor spun around in their seats to see Yakov standing in the doorway, with a hanky crumpled in his fists.

“Oh!” Yuuri yelped, standing to his feet. “Th-thank you, sir--”

“But you kids really need to get out of my damn shop,” he muttered as he coughed and tried to cover his teary eyes, “Ya hear me, Vitya? Take your boyfriend and go find someone else to serenade.”

“Yakov--” Viktor groaned like a teenager arguing with his parents, but Yuuri was beyond slight aggravation.

He was mortified.

“We’re not! I mean, he’s...We-we’re sorry, sir!” he squeaked as he bowed sharply. “We’ll be leaving now. Right, Viktor?”

“But Yuuuuuri…” Viktor whined, extending the vowel dramatically, “We should play some more! Come on, Yakov’s just kidding--”

Yuuri shook his head as quickly put his guitar back into its case. But just as he began to exit the room, he found himself stumbling over the hoze of Viktor’s red Hoover vacuum - the vacuum Viktor had completely abandoned near the door to the piano room.

“Nope, nope,” Yuuri stuttered aloud, frantically maneuvering around the contraption and shooting Viktor a stern look, “We’ve got to go. Now. I’ve got to get this fixed for you before--”

“Can’t you just fix it now?” Viktor asked with childlike enthusiasm as he took his sweet time closing the piano and pushing in the bench..

Yuuri blinked, “Oh, well. I can’t really fix it here…’

“What?” Viktor’s shoulders dropped instantly, “But I thought--”

“Oh, no, I mean,” Yuuri interrupted in a panic to explain himself, “I don’t, er, I don’t have my tools with me. So, well, I guess… That is, I mean, it’s kind of late, so it’s up to you, but we’d have to go to my shop tonight. You know...to fix it...tonight...”

Viktor stared at him blankly, the reality settling in as another heart-shaped smile grew on his face.

“Okay, whatever you say, Yuuuuuuri,” Viktor hummed while he carefully folded the lyric pages into quarters, tucking it away in his coat breast pocket before following after Yuuri like an eager puppy through the maze of shelves and instruments and boxes.

Viktor let out a little chuckle as they both waved goodbye to Yakov and ventured into the street, now dark and still.

“It seems your music was so good, we totally lost track of time, huh?” he asked lightly as he looked to the night sky.

Yuuri sighed, but kept quiet.

Viktor  _ was  _ right though. Their music had been magical.

But in those moments as they trekked through the city together, Viktor talking up a storm about his favorite composers and musicians, Yuuri was silent.

He just listened to the sound of Viktor’s voice as he weaved a conversation from nothing, the vacuum as it rumbled along the sidewalk between them, and the beating of his own heart as it kept time with a melody in his head, a melody he wanted to listen to forever.

It was late.

Too late, really, and Yuuri was exhausted. 

But Viktor most definitely wasn’t.

They looked like quite the pair, with Yuuri’s guitar case and Viktor’s fire-truck red Hoover vac taking up the window seats while they sat together in the aisle facing the front of the last blue-line bus of the night.

Yuuri was used to taking this ride alone, listening to his cassette player and ignoring everything. But now, things were very different.

Viktor was there, though his chatter had died a bit in the time since they’d left the music shop. Yuuri had played but a small part in their talks, nodding and asking the occasional follow-up question. It was strange, being with someone on his ride home. And he wouldn’t have changed that evening for the world. 

However, as they neared his neighborhood, and the streets they passed through turned more and more familiar, Yuuri dreaded what awaited at home. He loved his family, of course he did. But they had the endearing habit of embarrassing the living daylights out of him whenever they had the opportunity. 

But it was more than that now.

The bus turned down the main road and he could feel the moments ticking away. And he hated it. Because Yuuri knew the truth. The moment he fixed that vacuum, Viktor would leave. End scene. 

And Yuuri didn’t want that. 

“So...Yuuri…” 

He snapped from his melancholy and glanced over to Viktor, who leaned into his side a little and gazed ahead into nothing, his own mind wandering.

“Yes?” he asked nervously, not quite certain why he was becoming so serious all of a sudden.

“You said earlier,” Viktor began slowly, testing the waters. “That you never had a lover…”

Oh no, not this again.

Yuuri was almost fed up with the lover questions, but Viktor continued, 

“Yet, your heart...it  _ is _ broken,” Viktor looked over to him, a certainty in his eyes, as if he could read Yuuri like an open book. “I can hear it in your voice.”

The statement was simple, eloquent, and it hit Yuuri like a fist to the gut. 

“It’s nothing like that...really,” he shrugged as he tried to explain. “I mean, it’s not like I’m in love and pining over someone, or anything like that…”

“You don’t have to be in love to be heartbroken,” Viktor mused softly.

God, was this guy a mind-reader or something?

As he stared down, a nagging sense of doubt nestling in the back of his mind, Yuuri felt Viktor’s eyes on him. But he didn’t dare look. 

He knew what he’d see: compassion, patience, kindness, and a shade of blue he wanted to drown in. But he feared there would be something else reflected in those eyes. Something he hated more than anything. Pity.

But Viktor seemed different. Impossibly, perfectly different. 

So, with a long, shaky breath, Yuuri took a leap of faith. Not that he wanted to, but because he had nothing else to lose.

“I almost got a record deal. It’s been almost a year now… ”

And he began his story.

It wasn’t tragic, really. Just kind of unfortunate. 

He’d gone through audition after audition, endless meetings and phone calls, sent countless tapes, trying to get a local record company to sign him, to give him a chance. But they just kept pushing him. They needed something new, something different.

They tore his music apart, turning it into something he couldn’t recognize, but he thought it would be worth it. He thought it would get better once he got that deal. He was so close to getting it, too, so close to signing away his old life to start the career of a lifetime, so close to fulfilling his dreams and making his family proud…

And then they dropped him. Without warning. Without so much as an explanation.

“And I just…” he went on, his heart pouring out. “I gave up. For months I gave up writing songs, and I stopped playing, and I stopped calling my friends…You remember that family friend I told you about?  She wanted me to go to New York with her last year. To try out a bigger market, I guess. But after everything they put me through here...I couldn’t do it. I was scared. I--”

He stopped there, not daring to go on. Viktor knew what he was now. Someone to be pitied.

Just a weak, pathetic, hopeless--

“Fuck that.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened and he looked over, shocked by Viktor’s whispered exclamation.

“They’re crazy,” he persisted, an angry tone in his voice as he turned, staring at Yuuri with every ounce of fury and compassion reflected in his eyes. “Your songs are perfect, Yuuri, and your voice, it…” he paused, looking away, trying to find the words, then gave up and turned back. “You should be glad they let you go. You deserve better! You deserve--”

“Viktor, stop, it’s okay,” Yuuri cut him off, though he didn’t know why.

He had always wanted to hear those words, to be reassured that his music was worth something. That  _ he _ was worth something. But hearing it come from someone like Viktor, someone with talent and passion, someone who didn’t know the first thing about him… It was a bit daunting.

“It’s okay, I’m okay, really,” he continued, a resigned smile on his face. “I was angry, and depressed back then. And I still am, but it’s not something I want to worry about anymore.” He shrugged casually, though it hardly matched the mood, “That dream is gone. And I need to figure out a new path to take. I’m not going to be a broken-hearted Hoover repair guy for long, that’s for sure.”

At hearing his words, Viktor calmed a bit, his eyes turning away sadly. Yuuri couldn’t imagine why he seemed to be affected by the lackluster story. But he didn’t have time to think about it.

“Our stop is coming up.”


	3. Broken-hearted Hoover Fixer Sucker Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for the extensive hiatus. School has been crazy but I've finally got some down time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I can't wait to share the rest of this adventure with you!
> 
> [Chapter Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6J1EYQirtg)

“Our stop is coming up,” Yuuri muttered softly as he stood to his feet and slinging his guitar over his shoulder.

Viktor only nodded before he grabbed his things and began to follow Yuuri to the front of the bus. His Hoover rolled along behind him as the bus came to a halt at the corner.

Yuuri absentmindedly swiped his pass for the two of them as the doors creaked open onto the street. A gust of cold winter wind bit through his coat and he tightened the scarf around his neck as Viktor joined him on the sidewalk. 

The metal doors closed with a sharp clang before the bus continued down the street, rattling and groaning along, it’s creaks and mutters the only sounds to echo down the cold, dreary city block.

“Before we get to my place, I should probably warn you about my family...” 

Yuuri began, but he sensed he was speaking to the empty air. He turned, inhaling sharply, as he glanced back to the bus stop. He saw how the wind fluttered through Viktor’s hair, and the way those blue-eyes gazed about, an endearing spark of curiosity flickering there. 

A moment passed before Viktor noticed Yuuri’s silent starring.

“I’ve never been here before,” he admitted with a smile before quickening his step to reach Yuuri, “I am surprised there are not more people out.”

“Yeah, well,” Yuuri began quietly as they walked together, “It’s not exactly a social hub…”

It was true, though. The east side was a worn, quiet part of town, with dozens of dying shops and boarded-up houses. How anyone managed to live here after decades of brain-drain was a miracle. So it was no surprise that there were no people around that evening.

“And there isn’t much in the way of sightseeing,” Yuuri explained lightly, trying to joke. 

But the further they walked, the more obvious it was that his little neighborhood was, quite literally, dead.

They passed the bodega on the corner, it’s windows barred and lights flickering on the Open sign. Then there was the primary school, it’s once brightly colored mural-wall now cracked and faded. 

They took a shortcut through the park, an ironically picturesque spot with a duck pond and a gazebo. But the former community gathering place was in complete disrepair; there were no more festivals, no events, nothing. It was like a graveyard. 

“It’s really just a sad, little neighborhood with nothing to offer anyone…” Yuuri finally stated with a laugh as he looked to Viktor, only to see the taller man staring back with a confused, sad sort of expression in his eyes.

“How can you say that?” He asked quietly, turning away to look out at the empty streets, “You live here. That must count for something, right?”

Yuuri fell silent as they stopped at the far corner of the park, briefly waiting for the crosswalk light to change, before they walked up to a block of brownstone store-fronts -- all vacated, except one.

_ Repairs by Kastuki  _ was printed on a worn blue and white banner hanging over the entrance, where a collection of various home appliances decorated the display window - a dishwasher, a fridge, a hand-crank washing machine. It was a rather depressing sight, but beyond the appearance of the place, there was more to Yuuri’s sudden spout of panic. 

As they waited together for a moment in front of the shop, Yuuri contemplated his next steps. Before him stood two doors -- the entrance to the shop and a side door leading upstairs to the second-floor apartment.

If he brought Viktor upstairs first, like a polite host would, there would be questions and whispers and embarrassment. But if they went into the shop first... Either way, he’d have to face his family at some point. They wouldn’t ignore the noise in the workshop and would quickly swarm his guest. 

“Yuuri?” Viktor muttered at his side. “This is it right?”

Yuuri nodded and reached for the shop door, his decision settled -- to avoid family for as long as possible -- but a shout from above instantly foiled his plans. 

“ _ Hey! Where have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is? _ ”

Yuuri felt his stomach drop as he saw Viktor look up and wave lightly. Of course, Yuuri didn’t even have to look to know the speaker was his sister, Mari. Still, he slowly lifted his head, a crooked smile on his lips.

Mari had her torso leaned out of the second-story window, her eyes trained on Yuuri from within the cloud of dyed hair which fell around her face as she glared down, prepared to scold him for the late hour. But her retort was cut short by the sight of Viktor, and Yuuri saw her sisterly aggravation melt away into passive mischief.

“ _ Who’s the swimwear model? _ ” her curt question sent a blush racing up Yuuri’s neck, but luckily it was in Japanese, so Viktor stood blissfully unaware of the jab to his good looks. 

“ _ He’s not a model _ !” Yuuri tried to explain, “ _ He’s a.. _ .”

Yuuri had no clue what Viktor really was… Hell, he really  _ could _ be a model.  

But more importantly, Yuuri didn’t know what else to introduce him as.

A friend? Hardly. They’d just met. 

But he definitely wasn’t a stranger, either, or just some customer. Not now, anyway. 

“Hello! My name is Viktor.” The taller man waved, breaking the awkward silence with a smile on his face as he gestured to the vacuum at his feet. “Yuuri offered to fix this for me. It doesn’t suck right.”

Mari’s eyebrow raised, no doubt catching Viktor’s thick accent, but she suddenly turned back into the house.

Yuuri could hear her shouting to someone, presumably his mom. Something about a stranger and dinner and a vacuum and one-night stands. But again, the language barrier saved Yuuri from some degree of embarrassment. 

“Your sister, right?” Viktor asked after a while, “She looks like you.”

“You think so?” Yuuri chuckled, “Usually the dyed hair throws people off.”

“It’s something in the face,” Viktor hummed as he glanced over with a soft smile, his eyes searching Yuuri’s face, “Not the eyes, though...Maybe the jawline...”

Yuuri would have responded, a little stunned that Viktor had even bothered to notice his eyes, or his jawline, or anything at all about his physical appearance. However, Mari’s head poked out from the window just as he began to speak, and she had a strangely welcoming expression on her face, which did not bode well for Yuuri’s anxiety. 

“Leave the vac in the shop. Our dad can deal with it,” she stated to Viktor, her sisterly bossiness shining even through the English she reserved for customers.

She then turned to Yuuri, not bothering to switch back to Japanese, “You can bring up the model, though. Mom says she made enough dinner for both of you, so…”

Mari disappeared again.

“Model?” Viktor pondered aloud, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

Yuuri blood ran cold.

“It’s nothing!” he squeaked, “Don’t worry about it.”

He could hear Mari laughing above them at the window, but ignored it as he and Viktor headed into the shop.

The entrance bell rang out in the empty room as Yuuri quickly flipped a switch just inside. The fluorescent overhead lighting slowly blinked on, it’s stark glow brightening the grey, dingy, and wholly uninspiring Katsuki repair shop. 

The place was cluttered; incredibly cluttered, but not like the Studio-Ghibli-background beauty of Yakov’s music store. This shop was simply a mess, with shelves and aisles littered with appliances, modern and archaic. There were microwaves, rice cookers, televisions, blenders, and at least two dozen different vacuums. There were also parts: belts, motors, lights, batteries, tubing, etc. 

Yuuri strolled passed all this chaos, so accustomed to the state of things -- there  _ was _ a method to the madness, after all. It wasn’t until he reached the chorded-off stairs in the back of the room that he realized Viktor was no longer by his side.

He turned to see Viktor just standing there, in the middle of the room, looking around with a strange sort of admiration shining in his eyes. He was surprised to realize this expression was almost familiar to him now. 

“You can leave the vacuum at the workbench, over there,” Yuuri called to him with a shy shrug, “We’d better head up before my Mom storms down and drags us to dinner.”

Viktor nodded, his eyes still wandering as he quickly set his Hoover at the counter in the back corner and moved to meet Yuuri at the bottom step.

“So this is where you work?” he asked, still mesmerized.

“Yeah, a bit. My sister helps out mostly,” Yuuri explained, stepping aside to allow Viktor to pass in front of him. “But I grew up here, learning how it all worked, tinkering with different parts and things. So, I can fix pretty much anything.”

Viktor smiled fondly as he slid past Yuuri, their eyes meeting for a moment in the cramped intimacy of the stairs.

“You really are a man of many talents, Yuuri,” he stated firmly before continuing up alone.

Yuuri gulped. 

“Uh...thanks?” he whispered to himself, but then shook his head sharply to clear away the fuzzy, giddy feeling there.

He had no reason to feel so happy. And he had absolutely no reason to suddenly feel like a teenager bringing his date home for the first time. 

But as he stood at the top of the stairs, watching his Mom, Hiroko, pester Viktor with questions in the back hall of their small apartment, he felt a peculiar tightness building in the pit of his stomach.

“Your accent is so nice! Where are you from?” she asked as she cheerfully helped Viktor take off his coat and scarf.

“St. Petersburg-”

“Of course, Russia, yes. I understand now,” she mused warmly, her eyes looking him up and down like he was a statue in a museum and not a living, breathing person with eyes and a brain. “You are so tall! And handsome, too!  _ Yuuri! _ ” 

Her tone shifted as she turned to give her son a knowing look, even though there was really nothing to know. 

“ _ Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone? _ ”

“ _ Mom, you have the wr-wrong idea-” _

His stammering was futile, because Hiroko quickly swept Viktor away into the living room.

Yuuri’s dad, Toshiya, leaned in the doorway of the kitchen as Mari entered the hall. Her eyes followed Viktor with suspicion as he passed opposite her, but when she noticed her little brother’s flustered state, she smirked.

“ _ So where did you and the Model meet? _ ” she asked lightly, crossing her arms.

“ _ I told you he’s not a model… _ ” Yuuri tried to explain while he hung up his coat by the door, “ _ But to answer your question.. _ . _ he heard me singing on Market street yesterday and he said he wanted to see me again today, so-” _

_ “Wait, seriously?”  _ Toshiya blurted, wide-eyed, “ _ That’s awesome!” _

“ _ Well that explains why you were swooning like a shoujo heroine all last night…”  _ Mari added under her breath, like she’d reached some higher level of understanding.

_ “I was not!”  _ Yuuri stated angrily, a blush rising from his neck, “ _ And it’s not like that. Really.” _

“ _ Whatever you say, loverboy… _ ” she turned away, glancing to Yuuri over her shoulder, that look of caution returning to her face,“ _ But be careful. The Model might have certain expectations...”  _

And with that wonderfully ominous warning, she disappeared down to the shop. 

Yuuri grimaced as he looked to his dad for reassurance but, loving as Toshiya was, he just shrugged innocently before retreating after Mari and closing the stair door with a soft thud.

Alone in the hall, Yuuri sighed in exasperation. They were crazy, utterly insane. Nothing was happening between him and Viktor. And nothing was going to happen.

“Yuuri! Where are you?” Viktor’s cheerful voice echoed from the living room, and Yuuri felt his stomach tighten.

A cloud of dread billowed around him as he toed-off his shoes and padded down the hall slowly, a death march drumming in his head with each step he took closer to the living room.

The room was small and cold, but with a kotatsu in the middle of the rug, and a comfy love-seat covered in his mom’s extensive collection of throw blankets and pillows, it felt cozy -- like a real home instead of a cramped, drafty apartment. 

There was the small shrine in the corner, a dividing screen with an intricate painting of the castle from their hometown, and a dozen different momentos connected to their heritage. And amongst all these novelty glimpses into his family’s immigrant life sat Viktor, cross-legged at the kotatsu, looking around in awe as Hiroko flighted to and from the kitchen.

Yuuri smiled at the sight and leaned in the doorway casually, taking a moment just watching as his mother busied herself with dinner and tried to charm his guest as best she could. And Viktor, though he seemed to be a bit perplexed by the hospitality, was taking it in his stride with kind smiles and little awkward bows. 

It was delightful and Yuuri wanted to join, to make Viktor feel at home, but his mind was plagued. 

_...certain expectations...certain expectations… _

The echoing words rung in his head and he darted back into the hall and pressed his back against the cold wall. He closed his eyes to calm his nerves but his mind’s eye was met with a vision of Viktor, grinning with parted lips, his blue eyes gazing intently into Yuuri’s, like he was prey to be caught and eaten alive.

Yuuri’s hands flew up to smack himself on the cheeks and he shook his head frantically in an attempt to chase away the fanciful thought.

Viktor didn’t  _ seem _ like the kind of guy who expected a hook up with someone he’d just met. 

Right?

Yuuri cautiously glanced back into the living room just to see Viktor, noticing him from the corner of his eye, turn and smile brightly.

There was relief in Yuuri’s heart as he smiled weakly in return. But there was something else, something bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Something deep and steady and warm. 

Yuuri tried to fight it as he crossed the room and knelt across from Viktor at the table, where his mom proudly set two heaping bowls of curry and rice. 

“It looks amazing!,” Viktor said before deeply breathing the steam from the curry and beaming in excitement. “Ah, it smells so good! And I bet it tastes even better...”

“Y-yeah, it’s really good,” Yuuri let out shyly. 

“But his favorite is katsudon,” Hiroko stated happily before darting back into the kitchen.

Viktor cocked his head to the side, clearly unfamiliar with the dish, and looked to Yuuri for answers.

“Oh, umm,” Yuuri began, feeling better about the whole thing, especially now that they were just talking about food, “It’s got breaded pork and rice and egg and-”

“That sounds incredible!” Viktor exclaimed, his eyes wide and his smile blinding, despite Yuuri’s half-assed description. “I’d love to try that with you someday!”

Yuuri reached for his bowl of curry and took a deep breath, easing back the butterflies that threatened to take flight in his stomach at Viktor’s unexpected declaration. Yuuri have never dreamed Viktor intended to continue this relationship beyond the grey area between strangers and friends. 

“I’m sorry about all this,” he muttered, his hands warming as his fingers wrapped around the smooth ceramic of the bowl. “I know you probably didn’t want to stay so late.”

“I don’t mind,” Viktor shrugged lightly, taking a bite of food.

A smile instantly spread on his face as he looked to Yuuri.

“This is so good!” 

And with that exclamation, he was off, wolfing down the generous portion with vigor. But Yuuri simply stared into his own curry rice, not really knowing what to do. 

He was happy, flustered, but he didn’t really have reason to be. 

It was just dinner. 

... _ certain expectations… _

He forced his eyes shut and shook his head.

Just dinner.

Yuuri paused to clear his throat, hoping to begin some sort of conversation to play off Viktor’s boundless enthusiasm for his mother’s cooking. But, as if she’d sensed it, Hiroko suddenly re-entered the room, carrying two cups and a giant bottle of warmed sake - it wasn’t the cheap stuff either.

“ _ Mom…”  _ Yuuri groaned but she just laughed.

“ _ Oh hush, _ ” she responded kindly. “ _ It’s not everyday you bring someone home, Yuuri. Let me spoil him while I can.” _

Yuuri looked down, his face matching the red heap of beni shoga nestled to one side of his rice. 

The room felt silent as Hiroko, too hospitable for her own good, slowly poured a glass for Viktor, who accepted the generosity with a smile..

“Please, make yourself at home,” she implored in English as she quietly slipped out of the room and restrained a giggle on her way to the kitchen. 

And now they were alone again. And Yuuri wanted to die. 

“Yuuri, have a drink,” Viktor offered as he reached for the bottle and spare cup, “I don’t think I should enjoy this all by myself.”

Without waiting for a response, Viktor poured the small cup and passed it to Yuuri, smiling cheerily all the while. God, why was he always smiling?

“Okay, just a little though,” Yuuri uttered tentatively, holding the tiny cup in his hands.

How was he supposed to act? What was Viktor really expecting out of all this?

“You know, Yuuri,” Viktor began softly as he looked down into his own cup,“I’m honored you have invited me here. And I am glad your family is fixing my vacuum, but...”

He trailed off, blue eyes raising to meet brown.

Yuuri’s breathing halted.

Was Mari right all along? Was this night supposed to be…

“But I hope…” Viktor looked down again, shrugging, “I hope we can get to know more about each other. About our music.”

Yuuri exhaled. 

Music, of course. That’s what this entire situation was all about, really -- a mutual love for music. 

“Alright then,” Yuuri muttered to himself, shaky confidence washing over him as he lifted his cup and nodded to Viktor, “To music...”

Viktor lifted his cup in return and nodded, “To us...”

Yuuri shook his head, “To broken vacuums...”

At that, Viktor let out a laugh and Yuuri found himself smiling wider than he had in a long time as he slowly sipped his cup, allowing the warmth of the sake to spread through him, masking the natural warmth which bubbled in his core at the sound of Viktor’s intoxicating laugh.

With each sip he took, he tried telling himself that they were just friends. 

On his second cup, he tried to tell himself that his father could have the vacuum repaired in less than one hour and that he just wanted Viktor to leave already.

By his third, he tried to tell himself that this was a horrible idea and that he really didn’t like the way Viktor’s eyes gazed into his like there was no one else in the world.

And by cup four, he gave up trying to tell himself anything. 

Because by cup four he knew it was all one big fat lie. 

Needless to say, he was smashed.

* * *

Utterly and completely hammered. 

And he didn’t really care anymore.

He was warm, hot, like he had a fever, and maybe he did. 

He felt Viktor lean against his side where they sat on the floor with their backs against the box-spring of his bed, their feet stretched out in front of them. He couldn’t remember exactly how they found themselves sitting on his bedroom floor, but he could vaguely recall something about his dad, the television, a soccer match, and his mom giving them another bottle of sake.

Whatever the reason, he didn’t care. 

_ Oh broken-hearted hoover fixer sucker guy! _

Viktor’s voice sang in his ear as Yuuri harmonized to a drinking song he didn’t remember existed. And maybe it didn’t. 

_ Oh broken-hearted hoover fixer sucker, sucker guy! _

Yuuri cut in to bring the song to a close while Viktor sipped the last of his twelfth cup -- or was it thirteenth?

_ Maybe I’ll go there and sing out once again _

_ But till then I’m just a sucker...of a guy _

It was dumb and pointless and crazy but Viktor burst out in laughter and Yuuri felt like he was going to explode himself. 

He head was spinning, his vision blurred. One moment he wanted to hurl, the next to jump up and dance. Torn between these extremes, he nestled closer into Viktor’s side, resting his head on the taller man’s shoulder. 

Yuuri should have known better, since his alcohol tolerance was incredibly low, but having been together for so long, sharing curry rice, and talking with Viktor about anything and everything...it was intoxicating in an entirely different way.

“Yuuuuurri,” Viktor hummed as he moved to sit up a little, leaving Yuuri’s side cold. “I want to hear your songs...your good ones.”

Yuuri paused, trying to process Viktor’s request. 

“They aren’t really good…” he murmured, but then an idea came to him.

On the far side of the room on his desk, sat a giant stack of old cassettes. Slowly, but surely, Yuuri stood from the bed and half walked, half crawled across the room, his hands reaching to steady himself on the desk chair as he began to search for one particular unmarked case amongst the mess.

“What is this?” Viktor asked, walking to his side calmly.

He was clearly more than capable of holding his liquor, Yuuri noticed.

“Songs…my songs,” Yuuri explained weakly and then pointed to the floating bookshelves above his bed.

Somehow, Viktor understood and quickly retrieved the portable cassette player and headphones he found there. 

On wobbling legs, Yuuri managed to return to his seat on the bed, his face flushing as Viktor casually sat beside him. He was quiet, his eyes curious and patient as Yuuri tried to concentrate on opening the clear case and cautiously removing the cassette, then sliding it gently into the player in Viktor’s hands. 

“Here…” Yuuri let out, his finger hovering over the play button, “Tell me what you think…”

Viktor eagerly placed the earphones over his head and gave a short nod, so Yuuri quickly pressed play and sat back, waiting with baited breath as he watched Viktor’s eyes stare ahead, constant and steady, his mind working through the opening lines of the song. 

Yuuri blinked slowly, his eyes trailing over Viktor’s face, a tired easiness spreading through his body as he relaxed against the wall behind him. Viktor leaned back, too, tilting his head to the side, his bangs falling lightly against his cheek, a contemplative smile on his lips. He nodded slowly, following the beat of the song as his fingers twitched on his knee, as though he were fighting the urge to play along on an invisible piano.

God, he was beautiful.

So effortlessly perfect.

With his perfect hair, and his perfect face, and his perfect eyes, and his perfect mouth, and--

“There are no lyrics?” 

Viktor’s simple question interrupted Yuuri’s own fascinated staring, and he nervously looked down to his lap, a deep flush blossoming on his already pink cheeks.

“Uh, yeah...I couldn’t...uh, I couldn’t find the words…” he explained with difficulty.

It wasn’t exactly the truth though. He didn’t even know what the song was, since he was too drunk, and too distracted by Viktor’s mere presence to remember.

And he didn’t care. 

He didn’t care about anything anymore because at that moment the only hazy thought that came to his fading mind was the inexplicable desire to move closer to Viktor.

So he did.

Just a little.

Just enough to feel the warmth from Viktor’s body as his chest rose and fell with his breathing. Just enough to see the way Viktor’s  eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as he closed his eyes, deep in thought. Just enough to see the way Viktor’s tongue darted out to moison his bottom lip. Just enough to hear Viktor’s quiet humming as he harmonized to a melody only he could hear. Just enough to know Viktor was oblivious, utterly and totally oblivious.

It was crazy.

It was dumb.

And somehow, deep in his drunkard’s heart, he knew this was a tragically horrible idea. 

But despite that fact -- and any number of other facts which would, no doubt, come to mind in the morning -- he leaned in. 

He leaned in, sitting up to match Viktor’s impossible tallness, his hand lifting to caress Viktor’s jawline, his fingers tangling in soft, silver hair. Time seemed to stop as he then closed his eyes and inhaled, his lips seeking Viktor’s as if his life depended on it. 

“Y-yuuri?” 

He felt the ghosting of breath on his lips and heard the surprise in Viktor’s whispered voice, but it took what felt like an eternity for him to wake up from whatever drunken high he’d flown to in those brief few moments.

His dark, unfocused eyes opened and were met with wide, crystal-blue ones.

“What’ssswrong?” he heard himself ask, as if it wasn’t obvious.

Viktor’s eyes only widened more.

“Wh-what are you…You’re drunk,” Viktor rambled, lifting one hand to take off the headphones and the other to nervously press back against Yuuri’s chest as his furrowed eyes revealed the shock he was so clearly feeling. 

But Yuuri drew closer, moving his free hand to gently push aside Viktor’s soft, flowing bangs.

“So are you, Viktor,” Yuuri whined, a bizarre confident washing over him as he forced Viktor to meet his eye, “Come on…What are you waiting for?”

Viktor’s breathing hitched as his pupils dilated, and Yuuri felt the hand on his chest tighten into a fist, clenching at the fabric of his shirt.

Viktor wanted this. He really,  _ really  _ wanted this. Right?

“Afterrrall,” Yuuri’s slurred words hovered between them, “That  _ is _ all you came here for...” he leaned in again, slowly, the tension beginning to overflow as he closed his eyes once more,“Isn’t it? Viktor-”

Before the question could even espace his lips, Yuuri was pushed back. Hard.

Almost falling off the bed, Yuuri froze as Viktor held him at arm’s length, his hands gripping tightly at Yuuri’s shoulders, eyes closed, cold anger seething on every inch of his face.

“Vik-Viktor?” he asked softly, innocent.

“Damn,” Viktor muttered, shaking his head, a brokenness in his voice, “ _ Damn it _ .”

That was all Viktor said before he loosened his vice-like hold and frantically stood to his feet, the headphones and cassette player clattering to the floor as he took exactly three steps to cross the room and enter into the hall, grabbing at the coat hanger to retrieve his coat and scarf, not bothering to put them on.

“W-wait...Hang on-” Yuuri muttered as he tried to stand, to walk, to follow after him, but his legs would not allow it.

He blinked, his vision fuzzy and his mind just as muddled. 

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to will his drunk mind to clear enough for him to react, to call out again, to do  _ something _ .

He heard the door to the stairs open and then close, followed by the clambering of someone running down the stairs, the faint echoes of Mari’s confused shouting, and then the distinct clatter of the entrance bell as the shop door slammed shut.

But all Yuuri could do was slump over on his bed with a discontented sigh, as if he hadn’t just ruined the greatest thing that ever happened to him by trying to seduce a man he’d just met. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment/kudos!   
> And stay tuned for more updates

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you've enjoyed it so far! Expect many more chapters to come...eventually.
> 
> Shout out to the most spectacular, most amazing, literally the best beta reader [sandypenguin6](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/3898054/sandypenguin6)


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